The birds that fly northwards working title
by Be3
Summary: Out of sheer boredom, captain Kirk proposed a role-playing game based on Conan Doyle's works as a means to pass an evening en route to Hidalgo 5, a remote colony they are delivering medical supplies to. However, he only had the time to assign roles...


A/N: this is not a cross-over, though Spock as Barrimore haunted me for nights. Just a comparison. I've recently watched the "Star Trek: Reboot" and several eps of the original series (nearly ran out of traffic, too), and found TOS to be preferable, more thought-provoking. However, I don't know the universe well enough, so I chose a safer option. And yes, I remember that I have unfinished stories. I'll continue, promise.

Warning: general OOCness.

1.

So far, the briefing had gone smooth enough. They were sent to Hidalgo 5 to prevent an epidemic of some nasty bug. Kirk had no doubt in his CMO's ability to cure anybody of anything, and managed to spread his confidence onto everybody else.

The news of shore leave being temporarily un-scheduled, rather than re-scheduled for a hazy future date, was met with equanimity fitting a professional crew. They were young, but they were the best. Possibly not "but", but "and so naturally they thought", not that Kirk would voice such epitaphic heresy. _He_ was the one with discipline issues, after all.

It was the recreational part that was a cause for concern.

Captain James T. Kirk watched his staff and found the morale drunkenly unsure of footing. His latest project of crew-bonding activities backfired; the looks he was receiving ranged from puzzled (Mr. Spock) to calculating (Uhura) to pitying (Bones) to insulted (Sulu) to misty (Scotty) to…

Chekhov wasn't looking at the captain. Chekhov was being young, glum and prophesying.

'_Ze night vos darrk and shtorrmy_...'

Uhura giggled. Morale wavered and plummeted down. Kirk sol… captained on.

'Yeah. Pity Pike's already published the thing. Chin up, kid.'

'Keptin! Why must I be Doctor Votson? Can't Dr. McCoy be him?'

'That's what I keep asking myself. Seriously, Lestrade?'

'Bones, don't you see? You were born for this! Grumbling, loyal, curious...'

'Incompetent, stupid, old...'

There was a round of head-nodding, and while it was an uplift to have the majority of his "actors" well-read in ancient classics (there were only so many books to pool together in the ship's library), Kirk had a feeling they were actually agreeing on how bad his plan was.

But all was not lost if one had an innocent Vulcan on their side.

'Doctor, while I welcome your sudden ascension to realism, ephemeral though it may seem, I do not believe that Captain intended to remind you of your not-so-advanced years.'

'Nobody asked you, _Barrimore_.'

'Gentlemen, you're missing the point. Which is ok, just don't forget to reverse to your natural acumen.'

'Acumen? Stop creeping me out, Jim.'

Morale unstuck its little head from the hard cold floor. Meeting its crossed eyes, captain Kirk silently ordered it go hang, or find another way to stay upright. He was not letting his crew wallow in the misery of nothing-to-do-in-the-free-time-ness.

…The problems with casting were of the one-at-a-time type, not the hack-and-they're-all-yours.

Uhura demanded Spock be made Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and she "that Spanish girl who rebelled against domestic slavery". ("In your dreams," she hissed when Jim wiggled his eyebrows.)

Spock, having learned who Holmes was, was eyeing the captain with mild curiosity as to why, indeed, was he to impersonate the butler. ("Is uncovering the mystery in the most logical and speedy manner not the goal of said fictional detective's investigation?")

McCoy, bearing in mind that he'd still be a Police Inspector in any case, vouched for Uhura as the genius of the hour. He found some consolation in Spock's servitude, to help him deal with losing Watson's role to someone half his age.

Chekhov didn't want to stand against Sulu, if only in a role-playing game. They were _friends_!

Sulu's complaint was that loving nature and being proficient in combat didn't necessarily correlate with womanizing (hint, hint) or murdering (nudge, nudge).

Scotty shrugged and proclaimed that should the helmsman ever feel like an anticlimactic finale, he'd drink him under the table any time. Baronetcy has its perks, even if you're a guinea pig.

'Who're you playing, Jim?" Bones asked, and Jim grinned.

'Think I'll just multi-task for a while.'

'Not fair!'

'No can do, captain.'

'Okay, okay. I supervise, provide general guidance… Officially, I'm Dr. Mortimer."

'Figures,' Bones allowed. 'Young, pea-brained…'

'Was given a _stick_ as a "thank-you-for-leaving" gift,' Uhura drawled.

'A friend of the late Sir Baskerville,' Sulu softly added. Kirk remembered Captain Christopher Pike.

'A fence-sitter?' Scotty was having a hard time grasping the concept.

Chekhov frowned, trying to recall anything about the character. 'Vasn't he… odd? I mean, with people?'

'A beachcomber,' Spock closed the thin volume, and his eyes glinted.

'Fasci –'

'Bridge to Captain Kirk. Bridge to Captain…'

2.

Officially, the Federation was not at war with Klingons.

The empire was still reeling from Nero's attack of decades ago; whatever was brewing in its vengeful depths, the peace was still in effect. All the same, the sight of an old warbird drifting shamelessly across Federation space made Kirk itch with anticipation. Spock was not-frowning at his console, so maybe this little Klingon was not as harmless as it seemed. Chekhov stared at the central screen as if his favorite film was about to begin. He was proud of himself, of all Alfa-shift staff, to be called for the occasion. Gamma shift was manned by recently graduated cadets who hadn't yet participated in "the real stuff". They now crowded together near the turbolift.

'Yellow alert. Hail them, Lieutenant.'

The other ship answered without delay, although only audio.

'This is Captain Jennings of the _Sentient_. Enterprise! We represent the government of Shasht.'

_Sentient_, the ill-famous 'Flying Dutchman' of the 23rd century. Unease rolled around the bridge in a series of covert glances.

'This is Captain James Kirk. Do you require assistance?'

There was no starship in Federation to deny assistance this former Klingon tin can, now operated by Federation staff under the jurisdiction of Shasht. The _Sentient_ (its penultimate name was not public knowledge this side of the Neutral Zone) had been exploring the galaxy every which way for two dozen years, and rarely even docked. The men and women there were, in effect, hostages to an impossible diplomatic "situation".

When Nero first met Klingons and expressed a wish to preserve his anonymity, one of the surviving ships crash-landed on a nearby planet. There existed a peaceful agrarian civilization. The natives had long ago chosen harmony over technological advance; their mentality was so different from that of Klingons' that when the latter failed to behave as intelligent beings according to local standards Shashtians used them as fertilizer for their crops.

Some time later, the Feds became aware of the warbird and sent their own, more successful, mission. Shashtians welcomed the ambassadors: there were too many questions about this strange metal thing to fall from the sky. The negotiations had barely begun when Nero wrote another page of space travel history, the chapter on U.S.S. _Kelvin_.

James T. Kirk used to wonder what would have happened if the logs of the warbird were deciphered a day earlier.

The government agreed to enter the United Federation of Planets on multiple conditions. The ill-fated starship was declared property of Shasht; they employed Federation personnel and sent the newly-christened _Sentient_ to study the space. So far, Shasht hadn't built their own vessel; it would be far beyond their capabilities.

'…Kirk. Heard about you. Good job. No, we're still okay.' Jennings's voice hitched. 'Low on fuel, but enough to last us to Starbase 4.'

Spock lifted a hand.

'Stand by, _Sentient_. Mr. Spock?'

'They don't have weapons. Of any kind.'

'Shit.'

This was the problem when dealing with Shasht, the only known world to thrive on planned economy (or planned ecology, strictly speaking) and arguably the most cited example of the necessity to maintain the Prime Directive at any cost: their total unpredictability. Their defenselessness posed a more immediate problem, though; should the _Enterprise_ escort them to the Starbase, or continue on her course? The supplies they were transporting could mean life or death for the colony on Hidalgo 5.

'Mr. Chekhov, how much time -'

'They're hailing us, Sir.'

'Kirk. I have a personal request.'

'Name it.'

'I'll transport two packages to you. One contains our findings for the last… twenty years. This is for Starfleet command. Another is for my wife.' Jennings could not know, and Kirk had never before had any cause to check, if Jennings's wife was still alive.

'Scotty.'

'Aye, Sir. Transporting. Done.'

'Thank you, captain Kirk. Knowledge is invaluable.'

The traditional Shashtian salute had a bitter taste, but he replied in kind.

They parted ways.


End file.
